


A Little Night Music

by D_Veleniet



Category: Mozart in the Jungle (TV)
Genre: Cynthia is matchmaker but also not, F/M, Hailey is too neurotic to be casual, Hailstro, Rodrigo needs help with everything, also Cynthia/Hailey because yay female friendship and mentorship, including figuring out his feelings because Rodrigo, post-season 3, yes that's the ship name I give them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Veleniet/pseuds/D_Veleniet
Summary: After their one night together, Hailey tries to talk to Rodrigo with frustrating results for everyone.  Cynthia tries to intervene, but will Rodrigo be able to hear what he needs to and not just what he wants to?





	1. The Casual Drop-By

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Stephen Sondheim's brilliant musical of the same name, where the theme was relationships represented in 3's (though no, this isn't a love triangle). And of course from Mozart - Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. :-p Each chapter is a different POV.

Even when she didn't have to be, Hailey was always in practice mode. 

She could practice a four-bar piece of music over and over again for two hours at a time, finding the right amount of vibrato, fixing her intonation, making sure it was settled into her so that it came as naturally as breathing (so that she wouldn’t even have to remember the breathing part.)  She could practice something until she was sure it sat in her bones, even the beginning etudes that Betty liked to have her work on.  Sixteen bars of scales?  Fine.  She would practice those scales until they were fucking  _flawless_. 

So it was in her nature to rehearse something over and over again before she actually did it, as she had with all of the significant moments in her career – or even her life.   

Not that  _this_ was a significant moment in her life, of course.  It was small.  It just felt big because of all the buildup to it.  Or more specifically, all the buildup to what had happened three and a half weeks ago. 

 _We are being very good at this – platonically, romantically holding it, holding it.  I never hold it so...I think that it's a good idea?_  

It wasn't just that the sex itself had been good.  Of course, that had been part of it – the “9.86” she rattled off to Lizzie, head still reeling, operating on an hour and a half of sleep.  But in retrospect, she realized that it hadn't been the sex that stuck in her mind at all.   

It was their conversation afterwards where she shamelessly admitted that she hated cooking which had prompted him to bound out of bed, grab her by the hand and whisk her into the kitchen to whip up something to show off his culinary skills.  It was how he held out a finger of the sauce he was making and let her lick it off his finger, how quickly his dejection melted after she'd frantically waved a hand in front of her face, pronouncing it too spicy.  It was how good-natured he'd been about pouring his creation down the drain.  It was their easy conversation while he insisted on washing the dishes he had dirtied, how natural it felt to stand next to him and dry the dripping pan and utensils he handed off to her.  It was their impromptu game of Scrabble and her accusations that he couldn't use Spanish or French words to win:  how she'd confiscated one of his E's, and how he'd tackled her, pinning her to the ground, giving her a searing kiss while he pried the tile out of her fingers.  It was how they'd had to keep shushing each other when her peals of laughter or his  _We have to be quiet, Hai Lai!  Viola players must rest, too!_  were getting too loud.   

There were several times that night when she had to remind herself that they were both stone cold sober. 

It was that moment after she'd wrestled the tile away from him again, when she had  _him_ pinned, and they'd predictably started another make out session but had stopped, just breathing each other in, foreheads pressed together.  It was in that moment of silence that she could feel her emotions gathering and swirling inside of her, threatening to spill over into speech, and it was as if Rodrigo could  _sense_ it for he slid himself up to a seated position, folding her into him, one hand on her leg, another cupped round the back of her head.  She kept expecting them to kiss, but he let her lead, and so they stayed like that, heads huddled together, fingers lightly caressing.  Until finally - 

 _Hai Lai?_  

 _Hmm?_  

At first, the only reply had been the pressure from his fingertips, his arm extending to gather her in to him more, his head dropping to nuzzle her neck.  Then he'd murmured something into her ear in Spanish that was too fast and too low for her to catch. 

 _What does that mean?_   

 _It means...like this.  Just like this._  

She hadn't asked him to explain, hadn't questioned what he meant.  She just buried her face in his shoulder. 

 _Yeah.  Just like this._     

The second time they had sex was different.  They'd dragged themselves off the floor, alternating between pushing and pulling each other towards the bedroom, presumably to go to sleep.  Lighthearted mood restored, he kept trying to tickle her on the way to get her to laugh so he could immediately remind her that they had to be quiet, and she kept tweaking his sides, complaining that he didn't have anything to hold onto before revising her complaint when she discovered it was all lean muscle.  Once they were settled in bed, he'd kissed her goodnight, and the kiss quickly deepened, her nightshirt and his boxers coming off in a frenzy, and he proved just what he had meant when he boasted of his  _endurance, Hai Lai...it is not a sprint we want, yes?_   His agonizingly slow pace would have been frustrating if not for his proving  _it's_ _how you use it_ , but he hadn't been the only one to prove his mete as a lover.  She'd savored the moment when his eyes shot wide then immediately fluttered closed, with  _Hai Lai, how are you...?....wow, that is...wow..._  And their slow pace all of a sudden felt more like they were both trying to draw it out as much as possible, their night together dwindling to an end as the sky started to pink. 

Maybe he really was that good a lover.  Maybe it was the position she’d suggested that she’d remembered from an old roommate’s copy of the  _Kama Sutra_.  Maybe it was the perfect culmination of their night together.  Or maybe it was just a coincidence, but they’d actually come simultaneously.  And after she’d drifted back down to Earth, able to feel her body again, she’d opened her eyes to find that his were wet. 

 _Hey…you okay?  You look like you’re crying…_  

He’d stared up at her, exhalations still coming in loud puffs, and he brought a hand to her face, fingertips grazing her cheek. 

 _You are, too._  

She’d frowned at his wet fingertips, locking eyes with him for a near unbearably intense few seconds as the implications hung heavy in the air.  Then she tried to laugh it all off, postulating it was just her body crying out for sleep.  After they’d settled on their respective sides of the bed once again, she became hyper-aware of their closeness, the intimacy almost overwhelming her so that she curled herself into a ball and threw an airy  _night_  over her shoulder.  She’d maintained that forcible lightness into the next morning, especially when she’d casually asked if they were “done,” and he’d replied with a shrug that there was more they could do, if she wanted.   _Okay, well we can just like – play it by ear, then._ _Y’know_ _, just see what happens?_  

And yet - twenty-five days later,  _nothing_ had happened.  Nothing but four texts from her... and radio silence from him.   

Her texts had maintained that casual tone, sending text #1 two days after their encounter -  

 _hey_ _how were the youth auditions?? Did anyone play with the blood?_ She includeda bunch of musical instrument emojis and a smiley face with a mask over it.  

A week after that - 

 _hey_ _how’s it going with the weirdly named oboist? If he’s better than me, don’t tell me_ with a zipped lips emoji.  

Then, almost as an afterthought - 

 _do_ _you want to meet up later?_  

It was nearly booty call-esque, sure to get his attention.  But it didn’t.   

So a week later it was just - 

 _hey_ _did you lose your phone again?_  

Normally, she could take a hint.  But this was  _Rodrigo_.  As she'd tried to explain to Lizzie a few days before when she informed her of her casual drop-by plan. 

 _“Oh, come ON, Hales!"_  

 _“I’m not saying it’s the ONLY explanation, but I can’t rule it out.”_  

 “ _He ‘lost’ his phone?  Really?  You’re going with that one?”_  

 _“Okay, if it were ANY other guy, I would say that he’s ghosting me.  But he is actually probably the only guy on the planet where this is a legitimate possibility.”  At Lizzie’s incredulous eye roll, she protested with, “I’ve found his phone at the bottom of a trash can.  Once it was rolled up in a blanket underneath all the covers in his hotel room.  He doesn't treat phones the way normal people do, trust me!  He like...forgets he has it or forgets what it's for or that he needs it for communication.  He threw Alessandra's housekeeper's phone into a canal in Venice because he didn't like what Gloria was saying – and he almost threw mine in!”_  

 _Lizzie was eyeing her with a mixture of sympathy and abject disappointment.  “I just hope you’re right…”_  

So here she was, doing a friendly "drop-by" that she’d prepared every word of, every inflection of.  Approaching August Memorial Hall, she ran through her lines again, heard every rise and dip of her tone in her head like she’d already done a hundred times that week. 

 _Hey!  So I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by, say hi to people.  And – well, if you’re free, would you,_ _y’know_ _, maybe want to go grab a drink or get something to eat?_  

Yes, she had the nonchalance down, the spontaneity of it honed to a fine point.   

Then, if he said yes, she could move to the next few bars, the casual question that was something she was merely curious about.   

 _So, did you lose your phone again?_  

 _No, I was just wondering because I sent you a few texts, but…_  

No need to even finish the sentence.  Because obviously, it wasn’t that big a deal. 

The pounding of her heart said differently as she wrenched the door open, but she was used to it.  How many times had her heart been pounding as she walked into this building?  Like the first time – 

 _When he heard me play and practically dragged me down the hall to insist I be part of the orchestra just to –_  

Nope.  Focus on something else – like the last time she’d walked into this building – 

 _And my audition was apparently “the best for him” because I played with the blood, and he always loves it when I play, even though –_  

No. 

The people she was going to see.  Focus on them.  She would definitely run into other players first and get to say hi to them, calm her nerves a bit.  Opportunities to casually inquire about how the maestro was.  Maybe even get some dirt on Arlen if she was feeling petty.  She was going to see her friends, her fellow musicians!  Cynthia and Bob and Warren and Dee Dee and Tanya and -   

- she turned a corner and nearlycollided withRodrigo. 

“Ai!  Hai Lai!”  He may have jumped a few inches in the air.   

“Whoa!  Hey!”  After the initial surprise, she found herself grinning at the mere sight of him. 

“Hello!  Hi!”  He curled his  _mate_ jug close to his chest, like she might try to take it from him. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay – I was just talking to…”  At that he turned back, surveying the empty hallway.  “Where’d he go?” 

She couldn’t help her sassy pose, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.  “Talking to one of your dead composers?” 

“No, no – I was talking to…a real person, he was…”  Rodrigo backed up a few steps, craning his neck, like said person might appear from around the corner.   

“Who was it?” 

“The guy from the committee – what’s his name?  Kylie?  No…”  He sipped on his  _mate_ , eyebrows drawn in concentration.  “Georgie?” 

Hailey shrugged.  “Do you need to go find him?” 

“No, it’s okay.  I’m sure he’ll find me, if he needs to.”   

“Okay.”   

She opened her mouth to grab at the silence, but Rodrigo rushed in with, “So, how are you?  How are things…going, are they – are they good?” 

“Yeah, they’re good.  Still looking for work, but I’m hoping to make some progress on that tonight.”  It hadn’t been part of her plan, to let him know that she was headed to what she hoped might be a fruitful networking opportunity.    

“Good!  That’s good.” 

It was now or never.  “Actually, um – I was just in the neighborhood, and I just figured I’d stop by and say hi to people.  And –" 

“Yeah, of course!”  He made a sweeping  _go ahead_ gesture, moving as though to get out of her way.  “Please!  I’m sure you have lots of people you want to see.  Rehearsal ended a little while ago, but I think I saw some people still around.” 

“Well, I…”  She swallowed, her mouth drying a little at the decidedly  _not casual_ way she would have to phrase this.  “Orrr if you're free, maybe we could grab a drink or get something to eat?” 

It didn’t last long, but there was a definite flash of panic in his eyes.  “Oh, you know, I would really like to do that.  Yes.  I would like that very much.” 

“Okaaaay…?”  She made a gesture with her head, waiting for the inevitable “but.” 

He fiddled with his straw.  “But I have to find this guy from the committee – we have to talk about the kids’ orchestra.  There are so many things we have to do to set it all up, and to coordinate – and I am still looking for someone to figure out the scheduling things, so…” 

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight.  Hearing him flat-out lie to her was an unanticipated and crushing blow.   

“And what about your phone?” 

“My phone?” 

“Yeah.”  She couldn’t help the hint of peeved that had crept into her tone.  “Did you lose it?” 

“Did I lose my phone?  No, it’s…”  He fished in his pocket a moment, then withdrew it, brandishing it at her.  “It’s right here.  See?”   

“Yeah.”  Her heart sank.  “So, that means you’ve gotten my texts in the last few weeks?” 

At least he had the common decency to bow his head sheepishly.  “I did, yes.”  He stuck his phone back in his front pocket.  “I did.  And I was going to reply, I was, but – it’s been really busy, you know?  I’ve just had so many things with, with – with the new players and the new season and the new contracts and the youth orchestra – I’ve just had a very full plate, Hai Lai.” 

“Right.”  She nodded, trying to muster up some semblance of casual acceptance.  “Well, we did say we were going to play things by ear.” 

“Yes!”  He seized on this.  “And the last few weeks have been  _vivace_  and  _fortissimo,_ you know, just pages and pages and pages of it, with no  _adagio_ and no rests, just –“ He made an explosive motion with his hands, balancing his jug in the crook of his elbow.  “Just so much.” 

“Yeah.”  She fidgeted, the silence growing awkward.  “So, um, I guess I’m going to see who’s still here –“ 

“Right!  Right, yes!  Of course – you should go and see people!” 

She had never seen him so eager to get away from her.  “Yeah, so, I guess I’ll…see you around.” 

“Yes.”  He looked like he was about to say something, but then he just stuck his straw in his mouth and mumbled a “See you” as he moved past her. 

Forcing down the lump in her throat, she squared her shoulders, taking a few deep breaths as she tried to maintain an even pace down the rest of the corridor. 

“Hai Lai?” 

She turned around, hope bubbling up in her chest.  “Yeah?” 

He didn’t stare so much as drink her in, like a man who knew he was about to go back on the wagon.  “It was good to see you.” 

She could only manage half a smile at that.  “Yeah,” she finally said.  “You, too.” 

Luckily, there was a bathroom at the end of the corridor, a safe place where she could close a door and let the tears that were stinging her eyes finally fall.  Pushing the door open, she made a beeline for one of the stalls, but before she could close the door, she heard a “Hailey??” 

Reversing back out, she found Cynthia in all her glory, standing at the sink.   

“Hey!  Cynthia!” 

“Hey yourself, stranger!” 

They shared a warm hug, Cynthia maneuvering her sling-encased arm out of the way. 

Hailey eyed it with concern.  “How’s that healing?” 

“Slowly.  But it’s looking good so far.” 

“Have they said anything about you playing again?” 

“Well, the doctors are ‘encouraged by my progress.'”   

“Okay…so what does that mean?” 

“They won't know anything definitive for a while.  Or if they do, they can't say yet.”  She ran a hand through her hair that was somehow the equivalent of a sigh.   

Hailey tried to be as reassuring as possible.  “I’m sure that you’ll be playing again in no time.” 

“That’s what everyone says.”  There was an unmistakable bite underlying her words, but she softened her statement with a smile.  “I just hope everyone’s right.”   

All of a sudden Hailey’s problems seemed completely inconsequential.  "Well, if they're still letting you come to rehearsals, that must mean they're hopeful, too." 

"Yeah."  Cynthia shifted her bag on her shoulder.  "I think this is Gloria's way of making up for the cuts they took in our health insurance.  She agreed they would still pay me for 'light duty,' which is just sitting in the audience and listening in and occasionally filling paperwork.  And she's asked me to accompany her to a couple donors' events to draw the older male crowd."     

Hailey made a face.  "Eugh.  Sorry.  Though I guess that kind of goes with the territory as far as donors go." 

Cynthia shrugged.  "Thomas was technically older than most of them, so it wasn't that bad."   

Hailey nodded.  "Gloria only made me go to one of them, but it was a young donors' event.  That's where I met Erik..." 

 _And where Rodrigo shot daggers out of his eyes when he saw me chatting and flirting with him..._  

Needing a change of subject, she asked abruptly, “How’s Arlen?” 

Despite her injury, Cynthia still managed a graceful lean against the door jamb.  “He’s good.”  She dipped her head with one of her trademark conspiratorial smiles.  “Not as good as you, though.” 

“Well, he was better than me at the audition.” 

Cynthia gave a half-shrug that was somehow still elegant.  “Maybe at the audition, but you’re a better player.  Period.” 

Hailey smiled a real smile at that.  “Thanks.”  Then it fell.  “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.” 

Cynthia squeezed her shoulder affectionately.  “It means you're really fucking good, and you'll find a job soon.  I'm still keeping my ear to the ground for you; I’ll let you know if I hear of anything.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m actually on my way to meet some people who might be able to help with that.” 

“Really?  Who?” 

Hailey rummaged in her bag for her lipstick and applied a fresh coat.  “Have you ever heard of Class Rock?”   

Cynthia’s interest was clearly piqued.  “The classical rock band?  Of course.  You can barely get tickets to their shows.” 

“Yeah.  Well, I follow the cellist on Instagram, and he mentioned that they’d be in the area tonight.  So I’m going to just try to ‘run into them’ and…see what happens.”  And pray that  _this_ casual drop-by went better than the first one. 

Cynthia looked impressed.  “Good for you.  If you started playing with them, that would give you more exposure.”  She smiled.  “Which would help you move towards a solo career, if that's what you wanted.” 

Just the mention of it ignited her nerves, making her tingly all over.  “I mean, I wouldn't rule that out.”  They headed down the hall together.  “Is anyone else still here?” 

“I think you might still catch Dee Dee, and I know Tanya and Svetlana were hanging around.  Bob left right after and so did Warren.  Also I think Caroline was still here.” 

“Great.  It’ll be good to see them.”  And Hailey meant it.  Just being there had lifted her spirits higher than they’d been the last few weeks.   

“And I know the maestro is still here, too.” 

“I already saw him.”  Hailey inwardly cringed at how fast her reply came out. 

And Cynthia being Cynthia picked up on it immediately.  “Oh.”  She paused.  “He misses you, you know.” 

“No, he doesn't.”  Again, Hailey couldn’t stop her caustic tone. 

Fortunately Cynthia was the epitome of class and didn’t comment any further.    

“Well, it was good to see you, Hailey.”  Cynthia had reached the juncture that led to the exit.  She gave Hailey another hug.  “And don’t be a stranger, okay?” 

After that, it was a simple matter of finding whomever was left.  Dee Dee gave her a big hug and offered her his latest supply, promising her it was “some seriously crazy shit.”  Hailey politely declined, like always. She ran into Bob coming out of the locker room who gave her an awkward friendly wave and proceeded to complain about how much Arlen kept to himself.  "We miss you at our union meetings, Hailey.  The new guy just wants to come collect a paycheck, it seems.  Where's the dedication with this younger generation?"    

After that, it was off to the Rothberg, the local pub where the members of Class Rock were supposedly gathering, according to Sebastian the cellist's Instagram feed.  It was an easy seven block-walk, giving her enough time to clear her head and psych her up for the admittedly far more important "casual drop-by." 

So...that hadn't gone exactly as planned.  Her practicing hadn't paid off in spades like it normally did. 

But unlike the post-audition aftermath with the endless waiting period, there wasn't any this time.  No waiting around to see if she was accepted, if she got in, if they liked her... 

Because she had her answer.  The closeness, the intimacy, the ease of how they fit together, switching effortlessly from passionate to lighthearted to joyful to teasing to intimate – was probably just how Rodrigo was with every woman.  Probably part of what made him such a good lover – making the entire experience from start to finish feel... _special_.  Making the woman feel special, like she was the center of his universe, like he lived and breathed to feel her touch, to hear her voice, to make her laugh, to pleasure her.   

Hailey dashed at her angry tears, trying to repeat to herself the mantras she always used after she'd been rejected or hadn't gotten in somewhere. 

 _It's their loss!_  

 _It probably wasn't a good fit anyway._  

 _It's always a good learning experience._  

 _It's not a reflection on you..._  

The last one was the most difficult to stomach.  Because in auditions, she had two and a half minutes, maybe three, and all they heard were her notes. But Rodrigo  _knew_ her...   

"Did I not tell you?  Do not make my mistakes.  You must make your own way." 

Gritting her teeth, Hailey tried her best to ignore the Austrian-accented words of the 18th Century woman who had just appeared by her side.  

"Go away," she muttered under her breath. 

Nannerl was not so easily deterred.  "This is yet a lesson for you, Hailey.  He did not  _know_ you the way you knew him.  When he is around you, he will make you the center of his universe.  But when you are not there –  _auf_ _wiedersehn_!"  Her sigh was so full of pent-up regret and sorrow it should've been melodramatic - yet it just sounded sad.  "He might have been a good lover, but that is not what you need.  I had men promise me they would give me everything, but none would help with my career."   

"You're saying I shouldn't date anyone unless he can help me with my career?  Isn't that a little, like, ladder-climbing or, I don't know – opportunistic?"  Hailey just barely acknowledged her, eyes sliding to the side. 

"And what is wrong of taking advantage of opportunities?  Do you think that other great soloists got to where they are by themselves?   _Das_ _ist_ _quatsch_ _._   You must be smarter than you have been.  The next man you date you must ask, 'Will he help me get to where I need to go?'  Especially because you already have a powerful man against you." 

Hailey let out an involuntary groan.  She had managed to  _avoid_ thinking of how Andrew Walsh had poisoned the well against her for at least a few days.   

" _Ja,_ you must find someone who is more powerful than him.  Or find people who don't like him." 

Considering that Sebastian had several ecstatically beaming photos of him with Andrew Walsh on his Instagram feed, it was highly unlikely that Class Rock would fit into the "don't like him" category.   

"How will you know unless you ask?" 

"Okay, would you just stop?" she blurt out, immediately lowering her voice as several passersby cast apprehensive glances in her direction.  Thinking quickly, she put a hand up to her ear, like she was having trouble with a headset.  "I can't just ask them if they've heard horrible things about me," she murmured.  "But I'm not going to make your mistakes.  I'm not just giving up." 

" _Na_ _klar_ you will not just give up.  I will not let you.  Now – go and prove me right."  And Nannerl was gone, the entrance of the Rothberg looming before Hailey.   

Shoulders back.  Head up.  Smile. 

 _Hey, aren't you guys from that band Class Rock?  That's so weird, I was just in the neighborhood over at August Memorial Hall..._    


	2. Such Passion and Such Sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Cynthia. Did I take one line from an episode and create an entire backstory around it? Yes, yes, I did. :-p And then I tried to delve into her "regrets" line with Thomas from the finale. Hopefully I did her justice. Enjoy! :)

 " _A_ _nd Cynthia, she plays with such passion and such sadness..." -_ Rodrigo, "My Heart Opens to Your Voice"

***

From the first time Cynthia eked out a few scratchy, screechy notes on her cello at age 8, she knew she had found her purpose in life. 

At first, her playing had been driven not just for the love of it but to see if it would finally attract her busy, career-driven parents' attention her way.  To see if one of the rare times her parents were actually _there_ , they would praise her.  Or just _listen_.  Yet most of the time, they were too preoccupied even when they were at home, poring over the mail or arguing about the stock market at dinner over multiple bottles of wine or watching the news with after-dinner drinks in the living room.  It was her father who had finally said something, turning to her one night with a strangled, _Cynthia, would you take that infernal racket someplace else?!_

But Cynthia wasn't without an audience:  her nana lived with them, and she made a valiant effort to make up for what her parents lacked, showering her with praise every chance she got:  _It's sounding so good, carina.  You play so beautifully!  Every time I hear you, you're better than the last time – how do you do that?  Would you take a break to have something to eat?  I worry that you're so skinny..._

So it was her nana who got her up for school in the mornings, fixing her breakfast and packing her a lunch, giving her a kiss and reminding her not to talk to strangers as she left the house.  It was her nana who taught her how to cook, who gave her a stool so Cynthia could watch her make dinner when she was too short to see – but who still let her use the stool even after she had grown tall enough.  It was her nana who could always be found in the front row at every one of her concerts, whether they were Suzuki concerts in elementary school, school orchestra concerts in middle school, or small ensemble chamber concerts or recitals in high school.  Every time she walked onstage to see if her parents were there, craning her neck to peer at the back rows of the auditorium, her nana would wave excitedly, pointing and exclaiming to anyone who would listen – _That's my granddaughter!  See?  Oh, just WAIT till you hear her play!_   

And then her nana fell ill, and Cynthia was driven by a different reason to play. 

When Cynthia would ask if she could practice, her nana would request that she bring her cello into the living room or the kitchen and practice there while she sat and recovered from things that had started to tire her – like making dinner or walking across the room to change the channel on the TV (she never quite learned how to use the remote).  Sometimes, her nana would fall asleep and Cynthia would stop playing, afraid to disturb her – only to have her suddenly wake up and demand, _Where did my beautiful music go?_

And so Cynthia played.

Even when her nana was bedridden and Cynthia was the one who was tending to her, making them dinner, doing the laundry and making sure that her nana had fresh sheets and nightgowns – her nana would tell Cynthia to stop making a fuss over her because it was preventing her from practicing.  _Those pills don't do anything for me, carina_ , she would insist when Cynthia brought them to her in the mornings and evenings. _It's your playing that's going to help me get better._ _What about that Mozart piece?  Can you play that for me?_

Sometimes Cynthia wondered why her father didn't make time to take care of his own mother, but her nana explained something that stuck with her thereafter:  _Oh, carina, men don't know how to deal with their feelings - especially the bad ones.  That's why the woman has to be understanding and very patient while he figures them out._ When Cynthia expressed how that didn't seem fair, her nana just chuckled.  _They can't help it.  It’s a woman’s lot in life to wait around for men to figure out what they need._ _But if you can learn to anticipate their needs, that speeds up the process – and leads to a happier marriage!_  

In the weeks before her nana's death, her nana stopped her in the middle of one of Bach's toccatas. 

_Promise me something, carina._

_Anything, Nana._

Her nana had to take a few breaths before she could continue. 

_That you'll never stop playing.  You have such a gift.  It would break my heart if you stopped sharing it with the world._

The sixteenth notes all blurred together on the page, and Cynthia wiped at her eyes.  _But there won’t be anyone to play for anymore._

_Play for me, carina.  Just keep playing for me…_

Cynthia kept her promise for almost thirty years, right up to the day of her surgery.  The sling didn’t stop her from fingering the notes as she sat in on rehearsals, but the orchestra had always been her family and being there without her instrument made her feel like a limbless interloper.  Devoid of the thing that had driven her, provided her a purpose in life, she was a ghost of her former self, floating through purgatory while she waited for the judgment that would determine whether she would be reunited with her body.  Would she be like Kevin if the doctors delivered the news that would sever that limb permanently:  shrugging her shoulders and taking it in stride?  Or would she succumb to that self-pity, wallow in despair like Thomas had initially done after _his_ purpose was taken from him?

Ah, Thomas.

Tending to his needs and making sure he didn't get away with too much bullshit had been her other life's purpose for twenty years.  Though if she was being honest with herself, she had always found herself drawn into a maestro's orbit:  from Birmingham to London, from Moscow to Milan, and finally, to New York – every conductor had been a "fan" of hers, as Gloria had so discreetly put it.  The maestros usually had secretaries or assistants – Thomas had had a slew of them before Sharon – but while they tended to the maestros' scheduling and appointment-keeping, running errands and making sure the maestros were at the right places at the right times, Cynthia had always been adept at tending to their _other_ needs.  Which, at first, seemed to just be sexual in nature, but she found usually developed into any other unmet needs of the maestro, including the intellectual – and _especially_ the emotional.       

And then there was Hailey and Rodrigo.

In retrospect, Cynthia was grateful that her interactions with Rodrigo had been limited to those first flirtatious moments, followed by a strictly professional if friendly bond.  Yet, just a few minutes of watching his interaction with Hailey had Cynthia inwardly sighing at how history was doomed to repeat itself.  And then her exchange with Hailey – however brief it had been – had alerted Cynthia to what sounded like the inevitable trouble in paradise between the maestro and his assistant-turned-protégé-turned...whatever they were now.  If her attuned maestro senses were correct, Hailey wasn't the only one who was suffering from it.   There hadn't been any _noticeable_ change in Rodrigo the last few weeks, but she could tell that something was on his mind or was off or was not right. 

Or maybe he just missed Hailey.  

Christ.  He probably didn't even realize it.

All of these things crossed her mind as she neared the exit and came upon Rodrigo, muttering to himself.  Not that this was new, but this was a rather pronounced muttering, punctuated by exclamations and sharp hand gestures. 

“Maestro?”

He didn’t seem to hear her at first, pacing the area like an animal trapped in a cage. 

She reached out a tentative hand, placing just her fingertips on his shoulder.  “Maestro?”

“Ahh!”  Rodrigo recoiled like she’d smacked him.  “Cynthia?  You startled me!”

“Sorry, but I did call your name.”

“You did?”  He looked around him.

“Yeah.”  She eyed him with growing concern.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes.  Yes, I’m okay.”  He didn’t sound like he was that convinced himself.

“Who were you talking to?”

“I was talking to…”  He paused, searching the air around him, as if someone might materialize at any second.  “I wasn’t talking to anyone.  No one.”

Eccentric behavior was hardly unusual for him, but she was even more convinced that her original hypothesis was correct.  “Okay.  Well, are you heading out?”  She indicated the exit sign.

Rodrigo seemed mystified by it, as if it was the thing that had just materialized.  “I was…”  He looked back down the corridor, some apprehension in his features.  “I was supposed to meet with this guy…”

Cynthia slung her good arm over his shoulders, ushering him towards the door.  “Come have a drink with me, Maestro.  You look like you could use one.”

She felt him relax the tiniest bit, his sleight frame bending under the weight of her only good arm. 

“Okay, Cynthia.  Yes.  You are probably right.”

***

The Rothberg was deceptive:  an eyesore on the outside, with a wooden sign so weathered you could barely make out the mostly flaked-off gilded lettering, it opened up into a cavernous space beneath.  A shiny, black bar snaked around one side with neon-lit frosted glass above it, and booths lined the wall on the other side.  In the middle, heavy, blood-red velvet drapes inexplicably hung from the ceiling around the scattered tables, giving it an avant-garde ambiance.  The effect was that it cast the booths into murky darkness so that one could sometimes hear gasps of surprise or shrieks when someone suddenly emerged from the shadows.

It was a perfect place for hiding – for clandestine meetings between lovers; for celebrities whose forms and faces were conveniently blurred by shadows; for any exchange that might venture into the illegal - or for a sensitive conversation.  Initially, Cynthia kept it focused on work-related topics, talking about the new program, the struggles they were having with the new members, reminiscing about mishaps during previous concerts, about former members.

 “I miss Betty,” she sighed.  “It’s not the same without her.”

“Oh, no, it’s not.  She was incredible – I mean, she could do anything.  _Anything_ at all.” 

“Yeah, she was really fucking amazing.  Christine is good, don't get me wrong, but…she’s not Betty.”

Rodrigo raised his pint glass.  “To Betty.”

Cynthia clinked her glass with his.  “To Betty.”

They each took a sip, and Cynthia decided she could tip toe a little further into her desired topic of conversation.  “The whole oboe section just isn’t the same.  They were a more cohesive unit before.  And while Arlen’s good –“

“Yeah, Arlen is good.  Really good.”

“- he’s not as good as Hailey.”

Rodrigo took a healthy swig of his drink, shifting in the booth, the leather crinkling underneath him.  “No, he isn’t.”  His eyes flashed in anger.  “And I said that.  I said that to the committee.  Yes, he played a little better, but that does not mean he is a better _player_.  But why would I know?”  He muttered a few things in Spanish that Cynthia couldn’t catch.

Cynthia nodded.  “Yeah, well, we definitely miss her, too.”  She eyed him pointedly.  “She actually stopped by today.  Did you get a chance to see her?”

“Yes, yes, I did.”  Rodrigo suddenly became extremely interested in his drink.  “I did.”  He took another sip.  “She looked good, didn’t she?  She looked really good.”

 “Yes, she did.”  She paused.  “Maestro, can I give you a piece of friendly advice?”

“Yes, Cynthia, yes, of course.”

Her gaze was firm but not unkind.  “Let her go.”

He blinked at her.  “Let – who – who her – who’s her?”

“Let Hailey go.”

“Hai Lai?”  He laughed like she was being ridiculous.  “I do not – she is not – she doesn’t play with us, she is – and _I_ didn’t let her go, that was the committee, but – she is gone already!  She’s – bye-bye – _ciao!  Ciao ciao,_ Hai Lai!  She – she is gone!”

So _deep_ in denial, then.  Or, at least, trying to maintain the appearance of it.  “You know that Thomas and I were a thing for a while?”

Rodrigo kept a remarkable poker face at that.  “Yes, I did know that.”

She swirled her drink thoughtfully.  “He could never let me go.  Even when we were both completely miserable with each other, he still couldn’t let me go.”  She shrugged.  “Maybe if he had, I could have left the orchestra and pursued a solo career.  Or maybe it had nothing to do with him.”  Leaning forward, she poured as much meaning as she could into her words.  “The point is – if you know nothing’s going to happen, then tell her.  Set her free.”

Rodrigo looked wildly uncomfortable.  “Hai Lai is not a bird in the cage.  She is a free woman; she can go where she likes, do what she wants.”

But Cynthia wasn’t backing down.  “You know what I mean.”

Rodrigo scratched at his face, leaning slightly forward.  “And, what if – something already…happened?”

She didn't even try to feign surprise _._ “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

Rodrigo shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know.”

Ah, yes:  the indecisive maestro.  Caught between his desires and his fears.  Or his sense of what's "proper."  How many times had she heard the sentence _I want to, darling, you know I do – but..._ over the years?  “If you don’t know, then usually that means you don’t care one way or the other.  And Hailey deserves better than that.”

“Yes,” Rodrigo agreed, glancing down sheepishly.  “Yes, she does.  She does deserve better than that.”  When he looked up, his face was full of an earnest longing that Cynthia wasn’t expecting.  “But I do _care_.  I care for her very much.”

She nodded, knowing it was true.  “Then you’ll do the right thing.”

“Yes.”  A pained expression was settling into his features, like just thinking about it was nearly unbearable.  “ _Ay weh_ ,” he finally exclaimed, cradling his drink and gazing thoughtfully off to the side, slipping into some kind of reverie.  “I have been with a lot of women, you know.  A lot – a _lot_ of women.”

Her mouth crooked at that.  “I can imagine.”

“Mm.”  He paused.  “I’ve been with – with very talented women, artistic women, women who knew – who knew many things; athletic women who could – who could _do_ many things; very creative women who could imagine things, and I have also been with women who were less talented, who maybe knew less or had less experiences, who – were maybe not quite so exciting, though I have tried to stay away from the totally inexperienced women because that is –“ He grimaced.  “No.  No, no.  That would not be good.”

Well, color her surprised.  The innocent, wide-eyed ingénue had been Thomas’ weakness before her - and occasionally continued to be while they were together.  He had been such a sucker for the hero worship bullshit.

Rodrigo’s gaze softened.  “But with Hai Lai...it was different.” 

“Good different or bad different?”

The question seemed to surprise him.  “Just different.”  He paused.  “Good different, I think.  Yeah.  Good different.” 

She was hit by a sudden wave of nostalgia.  “It’s always different when you really know the person.”

“Yeah, that’s true.  But you know, I have been with women I knew before.  I have been with women I _loved_ before, and this was…this was still different than those times.”

So – not _that_ different from Thomas.  How many times she’d heard _"I've never felt this way about any woman before!"_ Her cynicism was difficult to suppress as she drily posed her next question.  "How was it different, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It was - how can I say…”  He placed his hands on the table, palms towards his chest and slowly interlaced his fingers.  “A coming together.  Not about -” Now he indicated with two pointer fingers.  “- this person and that person:  Me.  And her.  It was about…” He slid the two fingers together.  “Me _and_ her.  Her _and_ me.”

“You mean like making love?”

“No – no, no.  I have made love many times.  Many, many times.  This was not that.”

She chuckled.  “I have to admit, Maestro, I’m not following.”

“It was…”  He leaned back in the booth, searching for the right words.  “Peaceful.  No, no – not peaceful, that is the wrong word – more like _I_ was at peace.  I felt peaceful.  Settled.  A sense of…”  He cupped his hands, turning them so they fit together.  “The two parts – Hai Lai and me - making one.  Completion?”

A momentary pang of jealousy stung her.  Thomas was too much of an egomaniac to have ever described her as “completing” him.  “Wow.  That’s pretty big.”

“Yeah…”  He stroked his face absentmindedly, his features settling into shock as the seconds ticked by, like he was just realizing this himself.  “Yeah, it is.  It is big.”

“I didn’t realize you had feelings for her.”

Rodrigo became animated again, scoffing at this.  “Feelings?!  I do not understand that – what does that – _feelings_ for someone.  Feelings are – okay, you can feel many things, right?”  He started ticking off on his fingers.  “I feel – I care about her, you know – I care very much for her; I trust her completely, more than anyone, maybe, at least here; I respect her totally; I admire her passion and her dedication, and how she is always trying new things; and I enjoy our time together – I like making her smile and, and laugh because – well, she has a beautiful smile, doesn’t she?”  He grinned at this.  “And her laugh is – is very funny – I once told her it sounded like a bubbling brook, that kind of _hee hee hee_?  Yeah?  And I love listening to her play because she plays with the blood, and it is always the best for me.  I knew it was her at the auditions from the very first note, even from behind the screen.”

It was almost endearing how clueless he was.  “So…would you prefer the term ‘in love with her?’”

“In _love_ with her?!  _Hai Lai_?!”  Rodrigo burst out laughing.  “Ohh, Cynthia.  In love with her!”  He continued to guffaw, shaking his head, waggling his finger at her.  “That’s a good one!  That’s a good one!  Yeah, that’s good!”  He started stroking his face again, his chuckling petering out.  “In love with her,” he snickered into his drink, taking another sip.  “In love with her,” he repeated, staring off in to the distance at some point over her right shoulder.  “In love with her,” he murmured, his smile fading.  “In _love…_ with her…?” he whispered, not a trace of mirth left on his face.

Then he seemed to snap to, remembering Cynthia was there.  “No.  No, no.  No.”  He shook his head, waving his hands for emphasis.  “No, no.  No.  No.”

Clueless, stubborn, and a bona fide man-child to boot.  _Poor Hailey_.  “Okay.”

“Now feelings – well, I feel many things, so yes, okay.  I have…feelings.”  He squirmed in his seat.

“Do you think she has feelings for you, too?”

“I do not…I do not know.  How would I know this?”

“I’ve often found the easiest way to find out is to ask.”

“Yes.  Yes.  That is a good idea.”  He dug in his pocket and extricated his phone.  “I will ask.”

Cynthia was alarmed.  “What are you doing?”

He had already dialed, the phone at his ear.  “Calling her.”  He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “It’s ringing.”

“Maestro, I don’t know if that’s a –“

“It’s gone to voicemail.  I will leave her a message.”

_And what could possibly go wrong there?_   “Okay.”

He waited a few more seconds.  “Hai Lai! Hello.  It’s Rodrigo.  I wanted to ask you a question, and I know you will be honest with me because you always are.  Do you have feelings for me?  So…that is my question.  Also, I’m asking because I…I have feelings…for you.  So.  That is all.  Okay.  _Ciao!  Ciao ciao!_ ”  He placed the phone on the table, letting out a big sigh.  “Good.  That was good, yes?”

Cynthia surveyed him incredulously, chin in hand.  “That’s certainly one way to do it.”

“I feel better, you know? I feel…”  He made a motion like he was getting something off his chest.  “Yeah.  Like I have removed something, something that was weighing me down, like…”  He glanced at his phone.  “Like I am lighter now because…” He glanced at his phone again, this time fiddling with it.  “Because I think this was why I have not been talking with her, you know?  But now that I have revealed…these things...”  He smiled, though it quickly became a grimace as he picked up his phone.  “Okay, maybe this was not a good idea.”  His expression was spiraling towards panic as he held the phone up to his ear again. 

“Who are you calling now?”

“Hai Lai.  I will just tell her to forget the first message.  I will tell her to delete it.”

She reached out a hand like she could stop him, laying it flat on the table between them.  “If you leave a second message telling her to delete it, then you will probably guarantee that she listens to the first message.”

“You’re right.”  Whipping the phone from his ear, he peered at the screen.  “I will text her instead.  That is better.”  His thumbs moved as he typed out a text.  “'Hello Hai Lai.  Please delete the message I left you.  I dialed you...by accident.  Rodrigo.'” 

She deserved a goddamn medal for not doing an outright face palm, settling on pressing her fingertips to her temple instead.  Had Thomas ever been _this_ exhausting?  “By accident?  Do you really think she’ll believe that?”

Rodrigo looked at her like she was crazy.  "Why wouldn’t she?”

“It’s a little far-fetched, Maestro.”

“Far-fetched?  No, no, it’s not far-fetched!  People call people all the time without meaning to, with the way phones are - you know, I once reached into my bag when I was starting my position as conductor in Oslo, and my phone was already on!  And who do you think my phone had called?”

"Who?"

"Emmanuel Ax!"  He laughed.  "Yes, I was leaving a message for Emmanuel Ax without meaning to.  I mean, we laughed about it later, but at the time I was a little worried because the director had told me we were going to try to court him slowly to play for us – _piano piano_ eh?  He was not happy with me, though everything worked out just fine.  In fact, it was the message that did it!  He thought it was hilarious."  And Rodrigo shook his head, endlessly amused with himself.  "Do you want another drink?"

"Actually, I think I'm going to call it a night, Maestro."  She held up her casted arm.  "I'm still on the mend."

He was automatically serious.  "Yes.  Yes, yes, you should rest.  We want you back and playing with us as quickly as possible." 

"Yeah, me, too."  She made a move to slide out of her seat, then stopped as something hit her.  “Can I give you a final piece of advice, Maestro?”

“Yes, Cynthia, of course – you have been very helpful to me, you know.”

_But this isn’t for you.  This is for Hailey._

“I've… _known_ many conductors, many maestros over the years,” she started, using a euphemism the same way he had.  “Some of them for just a little while.  Some of them for a long time.  Do you know what they all had in common?”

Rodrigo looked like he was really considering the question.  "Were they all wankers?"

"Wankers??"

"Yes.  Thomas called me a wanker one time.  But then he said 'we're all wankers,' though it seemed like Gloria disagreed with him."

Gloria.  _Let's hope it's not terminal._

"Thomas is one to talk."  She tried to keep her tone coolly even.

"Ah.  You think he is a wanker?"

"I think you have to be to be a good conductor.  And an egomaniac."

"Yeah, that's true.  That's definitely true – you cannot care about what _anyone_ else thinks, you know?  You have to listen to yourself, follow your blood."

“Yes.  But even though maestros can't care what anyone else thinks, they still need help with things.  And they always find someone who will help them out, who will give them what they need."  She eyed him pointedly.  "Like Hailey."

"Yes, Hai Lai is very good at knowing what I need – she just, it's like she can look at me and know _exactly_ what is going on.  She knows me very, very well, which is why I trust her so much, you know?"

"Exactly.  _She_ knows _you._ But how well do you know Hailey?"  

It was Rodrigo's term to give the side-eye.  "Hai Lai??  I know her very well - I would say that we know each other very, very well.  Even before what - what happened between us, we knew each other.   You know, we're good friends."

"You say Hailey is good at knowing what you need; can you say the same is true for you?  Are you good at knowing what she needs?"

"What she _needs_?"  He got a very self-satisfied look on his face.  "I think so, yes."

She very successfully didn't roll her eyes.  "I mean outside the bedroom."

He sputtered a bit at his, his hands flapping like they could help him find the right words.  "I didn't – I know she needs – she needs a job!  And I offered her a job, but she didn't want it!" 

"Did you ask her to be your assistant again?"

"No!  No, no – she thought that's what I was offering, too, but no.  I offered her a job to help me out with the youth orchestra because I needed to get someone I can trust to work with the kids, and she has the kids' touch."

Cynthia wasn't buying it.  "So you offered her a job based on needing someone to help _you_ with something.  A need you had that you knew she could fulfill."

He looked borderline annoyed at her.  " _Ay weh,_ Cynthia, it was a job!  I was trying to help her out by giving her a job!"

She held up a hand.  "And that was nice of you.  But was it a job she really _wanted_?  And how would it have helped her, career-wise?"

Rodrigo opened his mouth to answer, then slowly closed it as the realization seemed to sink in.

"If you offered her a job because you were trying to help her out - that's one thing.  But if you offered her a job because you were trying to help _yourself_ \- that's another." 

He looked mildly chastened at this.  "Can it be both?"

She backtracked, softening a bit. "Or maybe it was just because you knew you would miss her."

Taking a thoughtful sip of his drink, he became pensive.  "Yeah," he finally replied, nodding.  "Yeah, maybe I just wanted to have her around because I'd...miss her."

She reached across the table, grasping his hand.  "And that's okay.  But next time you see her, ask yourself – can you look at her and know _exactly_ what's going on with her the same way she can with you?  Are you good at knowing what she needs?"

Rodrigo covered her hand with his.  "I see – I see what you are saying, Cynthia." 

She smiled.  "Good."

"You are very protective of Hai Lai."

Not like she was going to tell him why, but she nodded.  "I guess I am." 

"That's good."  He squeezed her hand.  "Thank you.  Really.  You have been very helpful to me."  He kissed her hand.  "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Maestro."  They smiled at each other.

"Cynthia?" A voice called from off to her left, coming towards her.

And suddenly, none other than the #1 Topic of Conversation Hailey Rutledge emerged from the shadows. 

"Hey!  Hailey!"   

"Twice in one day – this is a nice surprise!"  Hailey giggled, but it was cut short as Rodrigo dropped Cynthia's hand like it was scalding hot.  "Oh.  I didn’t realize you were -"

"Hai Lai!  Wow, yes – twice in one day!  What are the chances?!"

Hailey's features noticeably dropped, her head with it as she fiddled with her phone.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything - I was just stepping outside for a second.  My phone wasn't getting any signal so -"

"No, I was just leaving."  And in one smooth motion Cynthia was out of the booth, arm outstretched to invite Hailey.  "Why don't you have a seat?  The Maestro has something he needs to talk to you about."

He gave her a horrified look, but she stared him down.  "Don't you?"

He swallowed noticeably.  "Yes.  Yes, okay.  Please..."  He indicated with his hand.  "Sit down, Hai Lai."

Now it was Hailey's turn to drag her feet.  "Ohh, it's okay.  I'm actually here with another group, and I should probably get back to them."

"It won't take long."  Cynthia gave a jerk of her head.  "Have a seat, Hailey."

Hailey let out a very put-upon sigh, but flopped down into the booth, her arms already crossed.  "Fine.  For just a minute."

"Have a good night, guys." 

Cynthia didn't follow the cellist on Instagram, but she did follow the deeply closeted violinist Ai-Ling (who unfortunately still refused to peep out of said closet even two years after their one beautiful night together.)  So figuring out Hailey's whereabouts had been the easy part.  Getting Rodrigo there had been the next part, and then it was just a matter of whether Hailey happened to bump into them before Cynthia was able to dole out her one piece of advice.  It was impossible to know what Rodrigo had heard and hadn't after their exchange – but now it was in his hands.

Now Hailey wasn't her, and she knew that.  But what if Cynthia had had someone to look out for her all those years ago?  Someone who wasn't the older, powerful, male figure she was constantly drawn to?  What if there had been an older, experienced _woman_ who had taken her aside and warned her of the path she could find herself on, the patterns she was doomed to recreate over the course of her career?  Would she have listened?   Would her life have been any different?  Her career? 

_Ah, carina, you cannot think of what might have been.  We cannot change the past.  We can only look ahead._

Cynthia smiled to herself as she crossed the street to the subway.  It had been a long time since she'd heard her nana's voice.

_You have many gifts to share with the world.  Your music is one.  And maybe you have shared all you can.  But the orchestra can still be your family, even if you cannot play._

Yes, it could.  She could continue to look out for her fellow musicians, maybe even be on the board as a former player.  Make sure that her family was taken care of, that their interests were well represented. 

A new chapter. 

No maestros. 

No playing.

But she would do everything in her power to make sure her family was safe and secure.

And maybe...that was all she had ever wanted anyway. 


	3. Not All Maestros are Wankers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACK, so sorry for the INSANE delay!! I had written half of this chapter back in August, but then life got in the way for 6 months. Season 4 inspired me to finish, however - and I was glad I had held off on finishing because I was able to work in some of the characterization from season 4 into it (i.e. Hailey's reluctance to let Rodrigo interfere with her professional life and Rodrigo being OVERTLY STUPIDLY ADORABLY SMITTEN OMG) - which was not what I had written before. I still don't understand why this fandom is so tiny, but I'm happy to do my part to contribute to it. Hope you enjoy the conclusion! :)

Rodrigo had never understood the phrase _I wish I were someone else right now._

Why would someone wish that?  Even when his Maestro was throwing batons at him, or his abuela was pulling him by his ear after she had caught him with another cigarette – he never wished he were someone else.  He was Rodrigo de Souza.  Why would he want to be anyone else?

Even his colleagues, who he would hear say things like "I wish I could play like Joshua Bell" or "I wish I could conduct like Von Karajan" or "I wish I had Pembridge's sense of timing," he would tilt his head at them quizzically and ask, "Why?  We are artists; we are not trying to emulate someone.  Great artists _steal;_ they don't borrow.  You are interpreting the music; what you should really be wishing for is the soul of Mozart or Beethoven or Rachmaninoff to visit you and fill you up so you can play his music the way it was intended."  And he would shake his head at them, wondering why they could _possibly_ want anything less for themselves.

Even when Ana Maria exploded at him, like that one time she went full-on feral in the middle of a marketplace in Budapest, starting with a ten minute screaming session about _his tiny dick that’s the smallest thing you’ll ever see!_ or the many, many times she threw things at him or that one terrible time she chased him with an ax - he never wished he were anyone else. 

But as he sat in that booth across from Hailey, who was all defensive body language and refused to meet his eyes for more than a second at a time, he was surprised to discover that yes, he _actually_ wished he were someone else.

"Hai Lai. So, yeah...this is crazy, isn't it?"  He hoped his smile was convincing.

She eyed him reproachfully.  "I thought you said you had too much to do to go out.  Remember?  It's all pages of _vivace_ and _fortissimo_ with no _adagio's_ or rests?"

"Yes, yes, I do.  I do have a lot to do."

"But you changed your mind."

"Yes, Cynthia said I looked like I needed a drink.  She can be very convincing, you know.  Even with just her one arm."

"Right.  So?"  She looked at him expectantly.

"So...?"

"So, what do you have to talk to me about?"

"Hai Lai...yes."  He opened his mouth to say something, but then found another way to stall.  "Do you want a drink?"

"No, thanks," she intoned.

"Okay."  He picked up his glass, downing the rest of it in one fell swoop.  "I want another drink.  Where is..."  He craned his neck out of the booth, squinting through the shadows to see if he could flag down a waiter.  "I think the waiter forgot about us..."

" _Rodrigo._ "  Her tone brooked no argument.  "Do you have something to say or not?"

"Right, right."  He seated himself back down.  "Yes, yes, I do.  I was just hoping for…but – okay."  The last time she had seemed this pissed off at him was in Mexico, before he'd taken her to visit his grandmother.  When he had sent her off to find some _Tecate_ beer just to discover that there was a mini-bar in a corner of his suite.  Well – not discover, exactly.  More like _re-_ discover.  He’d placed his bag in front of it and promptly forgotten about the mini-bar’s existence, but that apparently hadn’t been a good enough explanation for Hailey who had returned fuming and dripping wet after getting caught in a downpour.

It was easier back then because she was technically working for him, sort of.  And he knew that he could always make it up to her.  But faced with her _This better be good_ look, he found himself struggling for the right words, ultimately deciding on repeating everything he had said to Cynthia.  "I have been with a lot of women, you know?  A _lot_ of women."

Her mouth tightened.  "Uh huh."

"Some women I have been with have been...very artistic, some very creative, and some were extremely imaginative, you know they could imagine all kinds of, of _things_ to do.  And some were athletic -"

"And some were athletic, artistic and eccentric, yeah, I get it."  She rolled her eyes, arms tightening around her sides.

"Some were – what did you say?"

"With Alessandra?  You made all kinds of exclamations about how 'it was artistic!  It was athletic!  It was eccentric!'"  She let out a heavy sigh.  "So yeah, I get it.  You've been with a lot of women.  And?"

"Right, I...did I really describe it like that?"

"Yes, and you described it like that in front of not just me, but Beppi and the entire ensemble."

"Hmm."  Rodrigo was momentarily distracted as he recalled that day, and then the night _before_ that, which yes, had been all of those things.  And then he thought about how _different_ it had been with Hailey, how _easy_ it had all felt.  How he had fallen asleep with a ridiculous grin on his face and awakened the same way.  He let the feeling wash over him as he met her gaze, smiling at her. 

But it only seemed to piss her off more.  "Look, can we just cut through the bullshit here?"

"The bullshit??"

"Yeah.  Or you know what?  _I'll_ cut through the bullshit since one of us has to."  She had that take-charge tone, the one she used to get when she had to tell him that _no_ , he _couldn't_ "just take a little detour" to that Guatemalan café in Queens before the fundraiser in Soho. 

He'd even missed that tone, too.

"What happened between us – it happened.  We tried, and it didn't work.  We got it out, got it over with, and now we need to move on.  And hopefully try to be friends again, eventually."

For a moment, he couldn't even process what she had said, let alone respond. 

Got it _over_ with?

Their night of passion and laughter and teasing and closeness and _connection_ was a thing to be _gotten over with_?

Once his brain caught up, his first instinct was to voice these very thoughts.  To protest that no, what they'd shared was the opposite of what she was saying, that even though it was unexpected and overwhelming at first – that it was _special_.  That it had worked. 

That _they_ had worked. 

But then Cynthia's words came back to him about how maybe she could have had a solo career if Thomas could have let her go.

_Can you look at her and know exactly what’s going on with her?_

What _was_ going on with her?  She was pissed, he could see that.  And for a good reason, too:  like always, he had run away because he couldn’t handle it when things got messy or complicated.  Unfortunately, feelings were both messy and complicated.

_Are you good at knowing what she needs?_

What she needed…she probably needed a man who could handle messy, complicated feelings.  Who wouldn’t run away.  Or she didn’t need a man at all.  She was a young, talented musician, and she needed to focus on her career. 

"Yeah.  Yeah, we do.”  The words felt forced, his nod stiff.  “You're right, Hai Lai.  We need to move on."

_Let her go._

"Yes, that was what I wanted to talk to you about, so I'm – glad that you agree."

She nodded, every line in her face drawn.  "Good."  She shrugged, the gesture far from casual.  "I guess that's that then."  Then she slid out of the booth, her movements hasty.

He remembered the voicemail just before she left the table.  "And you deleted the message, right?"

She frowned at him.  "What message?"

All his energy was suddenly drained.  "I left you a message, but it was by accident.  I texted you about it – you can delete it."  He waved a hand to show how inconsequential it was.

She eyed him incredulously.  "You called me by _accident_?"

"Yes.  It was – in my pocket, wedged somehow against something, and it called you.  Twice.  By accident."  He dug for his bill-fold.  "So you can delete it.  You can delete everything – they're not important."  He was aware of how his voice had dropped, but he was sure he probably just sounded tired to her.  And he was.  Very, _very_ tired.

She’d moved enough into the shadows that he couldn’t properly see her expression anymore.  "Right.  Well…if you say they’re not important…"

"They’re not."  He opened his mouth to say something else to her, but she was gone, swallowed by the darkness.  “Hai Lai?”

His sigh was heavy, and he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his eyebrows.  " _Ay weh."_

 _"_ That was _sehr stupid_."

Rodrigo groaned from behind his hands.  "Not now, Maestro, please not now."

"You have feelings for her; she maybe has feelings for you, but what do you do?  You let the opportunity for happiness walk away from you."

He laid his hands flat on the table, trying not to glare at Herr Mozart.  "And what should I do?  She wants to be friends!  She said she wanted to be friends."

Herr Mozart rolled his eyes dramatically.  "No, she doesn't, _dummkopf_.  And you know she doesn't.  But you are a coward."

"No!" Rodrigo exploded, pointing a finger menacingly at him.  " _Nunca!  Nunca!_ I was helping her!  If I let her go, then she has a better opportunity for a career!  A _great_ career!  I was _not_ thinking of myself!"

Herr Mozart was unimpressed.  "And you also don't risk heartache.  Your heart is what's in the cage.  Locked away safe where no one can reach it."  He extended an arm across the back of the booth.  "I gave my heart to many women.  You have, also.  But after Ana Maria, you are too afraid."  

Rodrigo hid his face behind his hands again.  “I don’t want to talk about this.  Okay?  I don’t want to talk about this, please.  Please.”

The sound of someone sitting down jarred him out of his reverie.  And there was Hailey, arms flung wide on the table, phone in hand.

“You have feelings for me??”

He was indignant.  “What?!  I told you to delete it!”

“I’m not going to delete something when you’re _clearly_ lying about it!”

Hailey never failed to amaze him.  “You knew I was lying?”

“Of _course_ I knew you were lying – you’re a terrible liar!  And you honestly think I’m going to believe that after _three weeks_ of no contact that I would just ignore two missed calls, a voicemail, and a text message from you?!” 

He gave a noncommittal shrug.  “I don’t know.  I thought maybe you would.”

“So which is it?” she demanded.

“Which is what?”

“ _Twenty minutes_ ago you say you have feelings for me, but now you just said you wanted to be friends.  So which is it?”   

“No, no – _you_ said you wanted to be friends.”

“And you agreed!  You said we should move on!”  And she was right back to being flustered.  “So which is it?  Do you have feelings for me?  Or do you think we should move on?”

“I think…”  He drew himself up, hands falling around his glass.  “I thought maybe it’d be better if I...let you go.”

“ _What?!_ ”  Her voice climbed an octave.

He tried to muster a defense.  “Cynthia said…”

_That I can’t give you what you need…_

_That I don’t know you as well as I think I do…_

“ - that she might have had a chance at a solo career if Thomas had let her go.”  He ignored Herr Mozart, who was shaking his head with a _tsk_ - _tsk_ sound.  “I wanted you to have a chance.”

“First of all, that was like twenty years ago.  Second, Thomas was _married_ , and you’re not anymore, so it’s totally different.  Third, Thomas is great and all, but you’re not him, which is good because he’s kind of a prick.  Fourth, Thomas and Cynthia are _not_ you and me.  And, most important – you don’t get to make that decision!”

“Okay, okay.”  Rodrigo held up his hands in defeat.  “I’m sorry.”

“And – you didn’t answer my fucking question!”

“Right, right.”  He bowed his head sheepishly, closing his eyes to steel himself for it. Opening them again, he took a deep breath.  “Okay.  Ask me again.”

“Are you actually gonna answer this time?”

“Yes.  I will.  I promise.”

There was a mix of emotions on her face.  Passion.  Anger.  Confusion.  Maybe even hope.

_Ah, Abuelita, you left out hope._

“Do you have feelings for me?” she asked, hope peeking through even more.

“Yes.”  He could feel his heart pounding.  “I do, Hai Lai.  I do.”

She leaned back in the booth, taking this in, letting out what sounded like a world-weary sigh.  "So that's why you've been avoiding me?" 

"Avoiding?  I wouldn't say I was – okay, yes – yes," he finished when her eyes flashed in warning.  "Sorry.  I'm sorry, Hai Lai."  He extended his hand out, though he let it fall flat when her hands stayed at her sides.  "Do you forgive me?"

She huffed, folding her arms.  "I don't know yet," she replied after a few moments.

"Okay."  His other hand joined the first, clasping together in his nervousness as the seconds of silence ticked by.  "Is there something I can do?  To make it up to you?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know - I could...I could do something for you.  Is there anything you – need?"

She came to life a bit at this, her emotions starting to channel in a different direction.  "I need a fucking job.  _Not_ with you."  She cut him off when he opened his mouth to respond.  "I need a job that isn't in your professional orbit – that's like completely _separate_ from your orbit."

"I know, I know – the gravitational, astronomical thing.  I know you don't want a job with me, but maybe I could – help you find a job?  A job that you wanted?"

Hailey looked like she was reluctantly considering his offer.  "I don't...know..."

"Is there a job you want?  I mean other than, you know, playing in the orchestra."

And now she was definitely chewing on a thought.  "Well...there is this group I was thinking about joining."  She glanced off to the side.  "I was trying to talk a little with them earlier, which is why I'm here."

"The group you want to play with is here right now?"  He tapped the table with his index fingers to emphasize.  "Here in this place, right now?"

"Yeah."  She was starting to become more animated.  "They're called Class Rock – I don't know if you've heard of them, but they play rock versions of classical music which is totally overdone and cliched, but they're actually really good, and they needed a winds player and so I - where are you going?"

Rodrigo was already on his feet.  "I will go talk to them.  I will tell them how you play with the blood, and make them give you an audition."

"I've already auditioned."

"And they didn't take you?"  He was aghast.

"Well, _you_ didn't take me," she reminded him accusingly.

"Hai Laiii..."  He leaned on the table.  "I told you how that was the committee!  They outvoted me!  And Arlen, the new oboe player, he is not as good as you – when he plays, it's like _El Dia de los Muertos_ , you know?  Like a little animated skeleton with the bones that bang together?  Actually, no – that is more interesting than his playing.  He is like a man who has lost all his blood, like someone has sucked -" He pinched his fingers together to demonstrate.  " - the blood from him.  Like, like, a vampire has sucked out all his blood, just -"  He made a sucking sound. 

That earned him a small smile.  "So are you saying you miss me?"

_Or maybe it was just because you knew you'd miss her._

He hesitated, the enormity of this admission making his words stick in his throat.

Hailey was quick to clarify.  "I mean my playing – my playing with the blood.  I know I haven't always been the best, but I don't think I've ever played like an animated skeleton."  She gave a nervous smile but it instantly disappeared, her attention turning to her lap as she picked at something on her dress.

_Are you good at knowing what she needs?_

"Hai Lai..."  Without thinking he knelt on the ground, folding his arms on the table so he had to look up at her.  "I always miss you – even when -" he went on, ignoring her incredulous look - "even when I am avoiding you, I am missing you."

"Well, then it's your own fault."  And that was definitely a real smirk.

"Yeah, that's true.  It's my own fault, I know."

She eyed him for a moment, her features starting to soften.  "I submitted my audition tape to Class Rock, but they're big on group chemistry since they're so small.  And normally I think I'd have a shot with them, but I think Sebastian – cellist Sebastian, not viola player Sebastian – he’s the leader and he like worhships Andrew Walsh, so I think that’s why they were kind of standoffish."

" _Puta madre_ , Andrew Walsh."  He didn't even try to keep the venom out of his voice.  "Do you want me to make them standonish?"

Now a real smile threatened to break onto her face.  "That's not really a word."

"But I can make them stand on something, I can make them – what are they standing on?"

She let out a giggle seemingly against her will, and it was quite possibly the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.  "I don't think they're really standing on anything, other than the lies that Andrew Walsh has been spreading about me."  Her features clouded a little at that, and he knew he had to do something to make the clouds disappear so he leapt to his feet.

"Hai Lai!  I am good at cutting things – I cut the red tape, remember?”  He emphasized with a sharp cutting motion.  “I can cut the lies of Andrew Walsh so they won't be able to stand on them anymore!"  She gave him another smile, but it was too tentative for his liking.  "Ohh, please let me do this for you."

"Why?" she finally asked.

"Why??  Why do I want to do this for you?"

"Yeah.  Is it just 'cause you feel bad?  And you think it'll make everything all better?"

"No – no, no.  I mean yes, I feel bad, I do – I do feel bad, and I want to make things better, but...I want to do this for you, Hai Lai.  I want to give you – I want to help you with, with what you need.  Not just now, but other days, other times – I want to, to be there to give you what you need.  If you need anything, I want to help you.  I want you to be able to ask me for help for what you need, whatever you need - if you need something –“

“Okay, just – stop talking.”  She stood up, clamping her hands down on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, okay.”  She was taller than him in her heels, but he didn’t mind in the slightest having to tilt his head a little to meet her as she closed the distance between them, lips pressing to his.  He sighed into the kiss, arms closing tight around her waist, pulling her into him. 

_Like this.  Yes._

He drank of her lips, taking greedy gulps of her, his hands becoming restless as they stroked at her back, her hair, her shoulders.  When they finally broke apart, oxygen becoming an issue, he continued to pepper her cheeks and forehead and nose with little kisses."Hai Lai..."  And he reluctantly drew back, his face serious.  "Can I go talk to this group?  Can I help get this job for you?"

Her face automatically took on a thoughtful expression.  “No…thank you.”

“No?  Why no?”

“Because I don’t want to force myself into a group that doesn’t want me.  And if I get a job I want it to be because of me, not because of you.”  

“It would be because of you – you’ve already auditioned!  I would just go and cut through the lies of Andrew Walsh.  But it would be because of you.”

She shook her head.  “No.”

“But –“

She looped her arms around his neck again.  “And maybe it’s a sign that I need to go in a different direction.  Like maybe I need to keep going with the conducting, focus on that.”

“With the conducting?  Okay!  I can help you with that.”  

“You can help me in _other_ ways, I promise.”  She tightened her arms around the back of his neck, pressing herself into him, then dipping her head to give him a searing kiss.  “With my _other_ needs,” she murmured.

“Mm, yes.  Other needs.  I can help you with those...”  He kissed along her jawline to her ear, giving it a small nibble and smiling at the gasp that produced.  “Do you want me to help you with your other needs right now?”

It took them a while to finally get out of the Rothberg:  he couldn’t keep his hands off of her for more than a few seconds at a time, and she returned his kisses and caresses with her own, punctuated by beautiful smiles and that bubbling brook sound of her laugh.  When they finally made it to the cramped stairwell that led up to the street, they stumbled, accidentally bumping into a tall, slender man with a shock of red hair and glasses.  Rodrigo, who had taken the higher step for _better access – now I am taller than you, Hai Lai -_ turned around to apologize, but the man let out an exclamation at the sight of him.

“Maestro!”  The man’s eyes widened behind his dark-rimmed glasses, lips parting in shock.  “Wow, I’m a huge fan, I didn’t know you came to the…wait, Hailey??”

He heard Hailey clear her throat self-consciously behind him.  “Hey, Sebastian.”

Rodrigo whipped his head around.  “You two know each other?”

_Can you look at her and know exactly what’s going on with her?_

Hailey’s expression told him all he needed to know:  wounded with a dash of bitterness, all covered by a polite smile frozen on her face.  “Yeah, this is Sebastian.  From Class Rock.”

_Do you know what she needs?_

What did she need?  She needed a job, but she said she didn’t want one with these guys.  So what else did she need, faced with the man who had believed all the bullshit Andrew Walsh had spouted about her, who had been standoffish to her?

 And all of a sudden, it became very clear what she needed.  So he stepped down next to her, coming to her level and taking her hand.  He might not have helped her stand on anything, but he could stand _with_ her. 

“Oh, yes.  The Rock Class group.”

Sebastian noticed their intertwined hands immediately, thick eyebrows shooting up in surprise.  “ _Oh_.  I uh, didn’t know you were with the Maestro.”

“Ohh, no – I’m not _with_ –“

“Yes, she is.”  And Rodrigo brought Hailey’s hand to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the back of it.  “I am with her, and she is with me.  We’re together.”

“We are?”  Now it was Hailey’s turn to go slightly deer-in-the-headlights.

“Yes.”  He addressed Sebastian again, whose wheels were clearly turning a mile a minute.  “She helps me with what I need, and I help her with what she needs.  Together.”  He gave Hailey’s hand a reassuring squeeze, which seemed to dissipate some of her uncertainty, as a kind of tentative hope dawned anew on her face.  And if she needed more reassurance, he was all too happy to give it her, leaning in and giving her a very tender kiss.

The opportunistic Sebastian was practically salivating.  “Wow, that’s - that’s awesome!  I’m really happy for you, Hailey!  And you - Maestro.”  He leaned on the banister, his pose overly casual.  “You know, we’re still having drinks back there, and Hailey, you left so fast!  We were like, 'Where'd Hailey go?'”  His faked familiar tone grated on Rodrigo’s nerves.  “Why don’t you guys come join us for another round?  On me.”  He flashed a brilliant smile that grated even further on Rodrigo’s nerves.

“Yeah, thanks, Sebastian, but I’m good.”  And something warm and real radiated from her face at Rodrigo.

He could feel his features mirroring hers.  “Yeah, we have other plans.”  And holding tightly to her hand, he led her up the steps past a slowly deflating Sebastian.  “Also – huge mistake, man.  I don’t know about your Rocking Classical group, but you could have had _Hai Lai_.”  He looped his arms around her waist to emphasize.  “And you let her go?  Because you listened to Andrew Walsh?  Let me tell you something.  Come, come."  He motioned to Sebastian, who was all too eager to be beckoned forward.

"Yes, Maestro?"

Rodrigo leaned in.  "I'm going to tell you something very important, okay?  Are you listening?"

"Yes.  Yes, Maestro!"

"Because I'm serious - I want you to remember this."

"Of course, Maestro."

"Andrew Walsh is the  _real_ wanker."   

He still didn’t technically have a place – _Just because Gloria’s out for the night doesn’t mean you have a place -_ so they had to go to her place again.  It took a few hours for them to work their three weeks apart out of their systems, but once they finally did, satiated, exhausted and happier than he could remember being in a while, he pulled her into his arms. 

“Did you believe me?  About us being together?”

She blinked drowsily at him.  “Well, yeah.  We’re together right now.”

“Yes, right now, but I meant – tomorrow night, too.”

Her blissful smile was sleep-tinged.  “No more avoiding?”

“No.  No, no.”  He hugged her to his chest, pressing a kiss into her hair.  “I meant what I said to, to – what was his name?  Sebastian?  They were crazy – _loco!–_ to let you go, Hai Lai.”

She yawned into his collarbone.  “’S their loss.”  Settling into his chest, she pressed a kiss to his neck.  “But thank you.”

And as her fingers slowed and then finally stopped their circling on his back, his thoughts wandered to his earlier conversation with Cynthia.

Cynthia had said he should let Hailey go.  But what did Cynthia know anyway?  Hailey didn’t want that, and neither did he. So he wouldn’t.  He wouldn’t let her go.  They could be together now.  For tomorrow, and the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that…

He was still smiling when he drifted off to sleep, body curved around the woman he loved.

 * _Fin_ *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had another story idea for these two (post season 4 AND ALL THE HEARTBREAK THAT ENTAILED), but since this is such a tiny fandom, I didn't know if there would be any interest. Please let me know if there IS any interest - it would be a bit of an undertaking and full of angst and longing and such and answer the question of whether Rodrigo's abuela was able to predict the future or not. ;) And it would ultimately serve as a fix-it in case we don't get a season 5. :(


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